Like Father, Like Daughter
by demented cookies
Summary: Rewritten! There is a new heir to the Fowl inheritance, one who is unaware of the previous Fowl's multi-species dealings. To match, there is a new fairy, descended from an old enemy, who would like very much to exterminate those who threaten her. R&R!
1. November 15

A/N: New and improved! I recently reread the original "Like Father, Like Daughter", supposedly my most popular fan fiction, and it. Was. Frikkin. Awful. So I rewrote it!

For those who read the original: Similar plot, I suppose, if you can consider the original to have a plot. More interesting characters (I hope), if you can consider the original characters to be interesting. And definitely more to the point. So here we are. I'm older and more mature, my story is older and more mature, and I'm ready to go at it again.

For those who have not read the original: DON'T.

Without further ado, I give you "Like Father, Like Daughter".

* * *

><p><em>November 15<em>

Everyone's heard the term "like father, like son". As soon as you turn on the T.V., there's some father-son bonding program, some after-school special, some nice family comedy-drama sort of thing. Nine times out of ten, the point of the show is that, no matter how different the father and son might act, no matter how much they seem to hate each other, they are a family and they love each other (without getting too gay about it, god forbid. Men loving men without being related? Blasphemy!). "A chip off the old block"; there's another one. Or how about "the apple never falls far from the tree"? They're all the same basic principle: the son will be like the father. They are an inseparable pair. The classic partnership.

I'll tell you why it's bullshit. First of all, where did all the women go? Suddenly, if you're talking about the unconditional love between two men (who are related, mind you, you homophobic bastards), it's okay to be sexist.

Oh, it's fine. The women are washing the dishes, see? That's _their _bonding time. We could give you a program about the journey to complete love and understanding between a mother and daughter, but who could relate? There's no wimmins on the internetz.

But that's okay. We're all used to that. It's a patriarchal world we live in. It would be unreasonable to expect anything else. So let's put the sexist aspect aside and get down to the nitty gritty:

It makes no god damn sense! In no way is the child obligated to love the father, mother, father-figure, mother-figure. I say if the adult does not earn respect, the adult does not deserve respect, let alone love and understanding. And in no way is the child obligated to take after the father, mother, etc., etc., because if the adult does not deserve respect, the adult is no one to look up to.

Take my father, for instance. You could say he's a family man. He's got a family. That's about it. Until today, I didn't mind too much looking up to my father. He's smart (to an extent), he's rich, he nailed a woman too beautiful for his own good and she still lives with him. If appearances can be trusted, he's the epitome of perfection; what every youngster should aspire to imitate.

That's what I thought until today, when I learned that everything they've told me is a lie.

Up until now I never knew how my father maintained his vast fortune (I mean, besides not paying his taxes and getting away with it, like all rich men). Yeah, he's a criminal mastermind.

(I know, didn't see that coming, did you?)

This is how I found out:

I had finally decided to turn my life around. I figured, it's not too late to start acknowledging the potential my parents think I have. I can get good grades. I can get into a good university. Maybe I'll get a respectable boyfriend with respectable parents.

I came home after school and climbed the stairs to my father's study, my report card in one hand, my referral to attend peer tutoring three days a week in the other. I knew they were going to scorn my F's, like they do every time a report card comes home, and perhaps nod at the wisdom of my counselor for finally getting her act together and referring me to peer tutoring.

But I never gave it to them, because my father – in his old age – forgot to soundproof his door.

"Are you sure about that?" my mother was saying (or something along these lines. I don't have photographic memory, so sue me). "There must be some mistake. The lep," (I assume that's how you spell whatever it is), "would never allow this."

My father's voice was monotonous as usual. I could see with my mind's eye him leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "She's not the first Koboi to get the better of the lep."

"Cunning is not genetic," mum said. "Just look at your child." Touché, I said to myself then. Now I say, that bitch.

"At the risk of sounding cliché," (here my father chuckled), "she's a chip off the old block."

My mother sighed. "Oh, poor Ettie," she said. I assume she was talking about my Aunt Loretta. Not a biological aunt (she's too cool to be related to either of my parents), but some good friend of my dad's from prehistoric times. "What did she ever do to deserve this?"

"She mingled in affairs that were none of her business," dad said. "I told her then, and I told her again and again after that, the people are not to be messed with. She did not listen, and now she's gotten herself and her nephew hospitalized. This is serious business. Nothing for an average woman. And believe me, she's always been just average."

Mum said very quietly, "What is she going to do when she gets out?"

"I insisted she and her nephew relocate to Fowl Manor. It's the least I could do. As much as I hate to admit it, I did lure her into this. In this sort of situation, though, safety in numbers is key. I wanted her here, under our protection. Who knows when Koboi's goons will strike again? And next time, they could kill her."

At this point I was thoroughly confused. What the hell were they talking about?

"How was this ever allowed to happen?" mum said. "I just want you to be careful."

"I am careful! I have always been careful. I can empty a bank in broad daylight, and I have been, ever since I was a teenager. I'm experienced. I know what I'm doing."

"I can think of too many times you would have died, if not for Holly."

My father sighed here. He was silent for a long time. During any other conversation, this is the point at which I would leave and go to my room to play video games, or perhaps mix another batch of nail polish (my mum never lets me get black. She says it increases chances of suicide). But not now.

"I was a child then, Minerva," my father said. "I needed the fairies."

I remember thinking, _fairies?_ My father believes in _fairies?_

They stopped talking after that. I don't know if they heard me listening, or if they just decided to end it. But I only wished I got home earlier to hear the beginning of the conversation.

Whatever, I'm rambling. Bottom line: my father is an international criminal mastermind and believes in fairies.

And he lied to me. All my life. Here's one new block. Here's an apple who doesn't mind falling a bit further off than usual, a cracker who rolled away from the barrel.

My name is Artemis Fowl III, and I'm nothing like my father.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter is not in the diary format, mainly because the diary format is too tiresome to maintain with a plot, and I have things to do, man. I thought I would let you know now that it will appear occasionally, but will not be the primary format of this story. Just thought you should know that now.

I will stop talking now and let you read.

* * *

><p>"Artemis." The intercom buzzed a little, despite Artemis II's efforts to make it sound as clear as possible. It is most probably a fact that intercoms will always buzz until the end of time. "Artemis, please come down to the drawing room. There is an urgent matter to which you must attend."<p>

Artemis Fowl III, lying on the bed with headphones on and journal in hand, groaned. It wasn't that she minded her father taking such an impersonal approach as to install an intercom throughout the house. No, she was fine with that. The further she distanced herself from her father, the better. It was bad enough she shared a name with him.

People often asked why she, a girl, was named after her father. She liked to say that she had been born a boy, but had a sex change when she was twelve and never wanted to change the name. She said this mostly to alienate her largely wealthy and conservative neighborhood.

The truth was that her mother refused to bear more than one child. She, influenced by her mother-in-law, was convinced there were far too many human beings for this earth to sustain and that every possible measure should be taken to ensure the human population declines, hopefully without the employment of genocide. What else was there to do but refrain from bearing children? Better to adopt and reduce the number of parent-less children while reducing the human population a little at a time. It was killing two birds with one stone.

But Artemis II wanted a child; specifically, a child that had his blood running through its veins – figuratively speaking, of course. And, even more specifically, he wanted this child to have his name, plus one Roman numeral. So their first and only biological child was to be named Artemis Fowl III, and it was only chance misfortune that it was born with ovaries.

But she was definitely his child. If one looked past the dark mascara and eyeliner, one would see that she had fairly attractive blue eyes. Her long hair was black and her skin was quite ghostly. It was only the mannerisms that made the two seem entirely unrelated.

The sex change story was a lot more fun.

"Artemis," the intercom buzzed. "Now, please."

The newest heir to the Fowl inheritance dragged herself from the bed. "Fucking bullshit, man."

"I will not have that language in the house."

"Apologies, mother," Artemis said, sending a rude, one-fingered gesture in the general direction of the intercom. "I am on my way with haste."

* * *

><p>The drawing room was a large room, with woven yellow curtains that hung from wrought iron rods above the tall windows. They were marvelous windows, reaching almost all the way up to the high ceiling, from which hung a dazzling diamond chandelier. It was real diamond too. Artemis's grandmother Angeline had made sure of that.<p>

But the size of the two strangers in the room somewhat lessened the grandeur. One was a man, broad shoulders, well-kept hair six and a half feet from the woven (locally made, not by Pakistani children) carpet. The other was a woman, nearly as tall, nearly as broad. They both wore dark suits and with a pair of dark sunglasses in the jacket pocket.

Artemis almost didn't see her parents in the shadow of these giants when she walked in.

"Artemis," her father said. "I would like you to meet Davy and Butler. They are your new bodyguards."

"I have bodyguards?"

"You do now," Minerva said, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed at her husband.

"You have always had bodyguards," Artemis II said. "You were merely unaware because your mother had it in her head that young girls were immune to dangers and therefore did not need them."

"No," Minerva said. "I _said_ constant surveillance was no way for a young girl to live. You're putting words in my mouth."

"I am doing no such thing."

Artemis III put her hands up. "Whatever. Why do I need them now?"

Her mother left the room.

"Something has arisen," her father said, hands behind his back, "from which it is necessary that you receive increased protection. It is nothing serious. I am only trying to ensure your safety. It will soon pass over."

Artemis nodded. She looked at Davy. With a little effort, she could see his muscles under his suit jacket. She nodded again. _I'd tap that, _she thought.

"Well?"

"Oh, yeah, cool," Artemis said. "Fine. I don't mind being followed everywhere like a stray dog. Better yet, a little kid who has to be put on a toddler leash."

"Now, Artemis," her father said, "this is for your own good."

"Everything is for my own good," Artemis said. "Hell, dad. With all this stuff that's 'for my own good', you'd think be pretty damn-well good by now."

The older Fowl frowned and crossed his arms, looking quite bored.

If she were anyone else, Artemis would have screamed. But she was her father's daughter; that is, she had lived with him for the past sixteen years, almost seventeen now. So she left.

It was not that she minded having bodyguards. It was that having them around all the time worried her.

* * *

><p>AN: Short chapter, I know.

If you liked it, please review. If not, review anyway with suggestions on how to make it better. That makes EVERYONE happy! :D

-Cookies


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Regardless of what Artemis's feelings were about her bodyguards before (especially Davy), she began to really resent her parents' decision the next day.

"No, really, you guys," she said. They stood outside the high gates of her school. "I can take it from here. Honestly."

"I'm sure you can," Butler said. "But it is our duty to watch your every move."

"We don't make the rules," Davy said. "Your parents sign our paycheck."

Artemis shouldered her backpack and grunted. "This is bull." Everyone would stare now, and not because she would throw milk at Rhi's crowd in the cafeteria or because she would start blasting music during study hall, but because she was flanked by these giants. Not everyone who went to her school was from a rich family, but now everyone would know that she was. It was not something she wanted. No friends was better than fake friends.

"Could you guys just hang out for the next six and a half hours? I'll be fine. There's a nice café about a block or two that way. Great coffee, I swear."

"That is not what we are paid for," Butler said.

"Is that all you care about?" Artemis said. "Your precious salary? If you're my bodyguards you're supposed to care for me, and that includes giving me a bit of slack."

Davy took off his sunglasses and gave Artemis a look that shrunk her to about the size of a dime. "As your bodyguards we are supposed to protectyou. Caring for you does not even come into the equation."

Artemis nodded slowly. "Okay," she said. "That's cool too."

* * *

><p>Artemis was thankful, however, that her bodyguards stayed outside of the classrooms. During her classes they would wait for her in the hallway. Once she came out, they were at her shoulders again, expressions just as stony as they were when she went in.<p>

And they were still close by her side when she walked into the peer tutoring building after school. The autumn afternoon light exaggerated the artificial glow of the hallway, the glossy shine off the blue and white tiles on the floor that made Artemis's shoes go _tap tap tap_ intimidatingly as she made her way to the classroom. She reached out for the doorknob.

"Here we are," she said.

Davy had his gargantuan hand on her shoulder. "Nice try," he said. "I believe it's that one."

"You sure?" Artemis said.

"Yes. That one. The one with no windows."

Artemis shrugged off his hand. "Gee, I could really use a classroom with windows right now."

"I know you could," Butler said. "But it makes our job much easier if there's only one way out."

"How did you manage that?"

"Don't worry about it."

Artemis knew they had specifically asked for her to be tutored in a classroom with no windows. If she tried to escape out of a window during school, the security guards would have nabbed her right away, but the security guards went home after school. Much better than hanging around a school full of posh rich kids and pseudo-rich kids.

"You know," Artemis said as they escorted her to the correct classroom, "I'm getting the feeling you guys are more like prison guards than bodyguards."

Butler opened the door for her. "One hour," she said.

"I know, I know." Artemis waved her hands over her head and entered the classroom.

Nearly all the desks were taken. That was okay, she didn't know where to sit anyway. So she leaned against the wall, crossed her arms, and waited until someone noticed her.

"Artemis?"

She hadn't noticed anyone approach her. She supposed nerds were used to being stealthy; there must be some way they made their way around school without attracting attention. She looked up to see a boy standing before her. He was a tall boy, with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses, a dull yellow polo shirt and khakis.

"That's my name," Artemis said. "Don't wear it out."

The boy smiled. He had braces. He was kind of cute, she admitted, for a shut-in. He held out his hand. "I'm—"

"Yeah, yeah," Artemis said. "My tutor, right?" She looked down at his outstretched hand, gave him a single eyebrow raise, and said, "Well, get on with it. I don't have all the time in the world."

The boy put his hand back in his pocket. "Yes, well, your counselor said you needed help with … algebra, right? And biology?"

"And English and history and French. Basically, everything except gym. You don't have to water it down for me. I get it. I'm a dunce. Now where do I sit?"

"Right here." He led her to a table and pulled out her chair for her. He sat himself across the table from her. On his side were a calculator, three pencils, two pens, and a stack of textbooks. On her side was a thoroughly annoyed teenage girl who would really have preferred to be somewhere else. "What would you like to begin with?"

Artemis leaned back in her chair. "It's not like I give a damn."

The boy frowned. "Why don't we just start algebra."

"Why?"

"Because it's your first period class."

"It is?"

"You didn't know that?"

Artemis shrugged. "Hell if I know. I cut it half the time."

The boy took the algebra textbook from the stack on the table. "I'll help you out on the homework for tomorrow. Page sixty-eight, right?"

"I guess so," Artemis said. "How do you know that?"

"I'm in your class."

"Oh."

"Page sixty-eight."

The boy was no more helpful than her teacher. Possibly because Artemis was hardly listening now, like she hardly listened in class. She couldn't help it if math wasn't her thing, or biology, or English, or French, or history. She turned to look out the window, but then she remembered there were no windows in this dreary classroom.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes," Artemis said. "Well, no, not really."

The boy pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Look, Artemis," he said. "I can't help you if you aren't going to listen."

"Apologies, sir."

The boy looked at her, brow furrowed, leaning on his elbows on the desk. Artemis could see herself in his glasses.

"What are you going to do when you get out of here?"

"Huh?" Artemis said. "What do you mean? Get out of where?"

"High school," the boy said. "What do you want to do after you graduate?"

No one had ever asked her that before. Or, actually, they probably had; she just hadn't been listening. She laughed. "Assuming I graduate..."

"Well then, listen!" the boy said. Then he blushed. "Sorry. I'm just a little frustrated."

Artemis smirked. "It is because I probably won't graduate, or my stunning good looks?"

"I could live without the latter, but the former will reflect heavily on my ability as a peer tutor," the boy said. "Now tell me, what answer did you get for problem twenty-seven?"

Artemis pulled the book over toward herself. She scratched her head. "Four. Obviously."

"Sure," the boy said. "It could be four. If you disregard the order of operations, that is."

Artemis looked over to the door. "I'll never get this."

"Yes, you will. It's easy. You learned about this in junior high."

And so for the time being, all was well. Later, she would wish it could have stayed that way.

* * *

><p>AN: You know the drill: if you liked it, review. If not, review anyway and tell me what to fix. That would make EVERYBODY happy! :D

-Cookies


End file.
